I recently revisited Stanley Kubrick’s splendid psychological horror movie ‘The Shining.’ Based on Stephen King's novel of the same name and released in 1980, ‘The Shining’ stars Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall and is played out in the magnificent Overlook Hotel.

Set in a secluded spot in the Colorado Rockies, the Overlook had a troubled history. It was built in the early 1900s on the site of a Native American burial ground and in a region where snow-bound settlers were once forced into cannibalism to survive. More recently a winter caretaker suffered a mental breakdown and ran amok, killing his wife and two young daughters, and then himself.

Despite all this, Jack Torrance (Nicholson) accepts the position as caretaker while the hotel is closed for the snowy winter months.

'Physically, it's not a very demanding job. The only thing that can get a bit trying up here during the winter is a tremendous sense of isolation. For some people, solitude and isolation can, of itself, become a problem.'

Jack, an aspiring author and recovering alcoholic, hopes that the reclusive posting will help him concentrate on his latest writing project. And so he drives his wife Wendy (Duvall) and their five-year-old son Danny through the spruce-covered peaks to the deserted resort hotel, and they prepare for a winter of seclusion.

The Overlook boasts high ceilinged halls with imposing fireplaces, elegant balconies and salmon pink pillars. There are wrought iron chandeliers and indigenous rugs, tartan chairs and wood-framed red elevator doors. The Prairie School architecture is a joy to behold. The opulent mirrored bar in the Gold Room, the scarlet walls and washbasins in the lavatories, the mint green bathroom in Room 237.

Young Danny, however, possesses psychic powers and senses that something is wrong. He sees a corridor awash with blood and two young girls screaming.

Danny: Dad?... Do you like this hotel?
Jack: Yes, I do. I love it. Don't you?
Danny: I guess so.
Jack: Good. I want you to like it here. I wish we could stay here forever... and ever... and ever.

Jack establishes himself at a large wooden desk in the spacious Colorado Lounge. He sets out his grey Adler Typewriter - to the left of it a ream of paper and a pack of Marlboro, to the right a jar of pencils and a crystal ashtray. Wendy asks him if he fancies a walk after breakfast.

Jack: I suppose I ought to try to do some writing first.
Wendy: Any ideas yet?
Jack: Lots of ideas. No good ones.
Wendy: Well, something’ll come. It’s just a matter of settling back into the habit of writing every day.

Later we find Jack throwing a ball against a wall. He’s not quite got down to things yet.

We follow Danny from behind as he pedals his blue tricycle through the Overlook’s long empty corridors. Over the geometric patterned carpet - orange, red and brown. Over the hardwood floor. Past white walls, brown doors and through the kitchen. Now the wallpaper is floral. He turns a corner and there at the end of the passage are the two young girls – in white socks and pale blue beribboned dresses, holding hands.

'Hello, Danny. Come and play with us. Come and play with us, Danny. Forever... and ever... and ever.’

And then they are on the corridor carpet in pools of blood, an axe by their side. A startled Danny puts his hands to his face. When he plucks up the courage to look through his fingers, the girls are gone.

Nonetheless, the eerie events continue. The weather deteriorates and the phone lines go down. There’s a naked woman in Room 237. There’s a glamorous party in the Gold Room. Jack starts having visions.

The film concerns itself with a cursed building, a lonely child’s fantasies and a weak man’s vulnerabilities: his alcoholism, his guilt, his struggle to deal with responsibility. But Stephen King also once described ‘The Shining’ as ‘just a little story about writer’s block.’

'Wendy, let me explain something to you. Whenever you come in here and interrupt me, you're breaking my concentration. You're distracting me, and it will then take me time to get back to where I was. You understand?'

A month passes. Jack becomes increasingly petulant. Wendy finds him screaming while asleep at his typewriter. She also discovers that his writing endeavours have been fruitless. He has been typing page after page filled with one solitary phrase:

‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’

Sometimes his words are indented, irregularly spaced. Sometimes there are misspellings. There are sheets of neatly stacked paper, all saying the same thing, over and over again. Jack has finally cracked.

Though, it is hoped, we have very little in common with mad Jack Torrance, we may sympathise with writer’s block.

The intractable problem, the insoluble puzzle. The blank sheet of paper and the ticking clock. The displacement activities and failed resolutions. The gentle encouragement and anguished inducements. The veiled threats. The paralysis, lethargy and listlessness. The complete lack of inspiration and ideas.

Like many people in this situation, I have sought solitude and seclusion. I have organised stationery, written lists and imposed discipline. But I have found that the most fruitful means of addressing a conceptual drought is simply to stop and seek fresh stimulus elsewhere. Read a book, go for a walk, visit a gallery or cinema. Sooner or later something will occur to you. Something will crop up. Because you need input if you’re going to create output.

'If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write.'
Stephen King

We were once labouring on a particularly challenging Pitch. After a gruelling Saturday in the office, and with the deadline approaching, we resolved to take Sunday off and return fresh the next day.

That Monday morning Creative Director John Hegarty walked into work with a spring in his step. He summoned the team and brandished an article he’d read in the weekend newspapers. It had prompted him to conceive an elegant solution to our problem. In the nick of time we worked up a compelling proposal and the Pitch was won.

After I’d recovered from the exertions, I went to see the boss, somewhat troubled.

‘John, what if you hadn’t read that article? What if the piece had run the following week? What would we have done then?’

John looked up, unconcerned.

‘Oh, I’d have seen something else, I imagine.’

I have come to conclude that unplanned encounters and chance discoveries are often responsible for the most important creative breakthroughs. Serendipity solves problems. We just need to put ourselves in a position for fortune to strike.

Of course, we could continue to stare at that blank piece of paper into the early hours. But that way madness lies.

'Here's Johnny!’

'I'm a path of cinders
Burning under your feet.
You're the one who walks me,
I'm your one way street.
I'm a whisper in water,
Secret for you to hear.
You are the one who grows distant
When I beckon you near.
Leave me now, return tonight.
The tide will show you the way.
If you forget my name
You will go astray,
Like a killer whale
Trapped in a bay.’

Bjork, ‘Bachelorette'

No. 313